meanwhile, also intel

e: i should have been a bit more explicit here. the massive, relatively new intel fabrication plant shown here is located ~10 miles as the crow flies from the northwest corner of Gaza

yelling at the judges

wishing death upon the audience even

raw milk

coin

yet another moment

antimaterialist french anarchism is the best i've got to offer you. anything sufficiently materialist is too threatening and too much historical reading for treat demons that will make them feel uwu sad

It's the fascism for people who don't want to look at what their hands are doing, don't revel in the squish of the lives they want to crush.

a friend of mine read me her essay in Angry Women, or at least part of it, and what a wild ride that is.

oh, he's going forward with that idea. good stuff...

you didn't even talk about the major point of the story which is that Bisclavret is a werewolf

opinion discarded, this guy sounds like a dumbass. if he wants to read book reports, he should go teach grade school. literacy rates are low, he should consider trying to stop contributing to it himself.

The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit- and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains. And the smell of rot fills the country. Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescence drip down into the earth.

There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate- died of malnutrition- because the food must rot, must be forced to rot. The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

for some reason i'm just now considering how fucking annoying adolf would have been on twitter had it existed.

why even bother going to michigan if you want to lose there